The Quiet Ones
by Lyta Padfoot
Summary: On hiatus pending revision. Slytherin Alan Nott and his stepsister and partnerincrime Blaise Zabini decide to help their house with its image problem. Their solution: 'improve' Draco Malfoy with carefully orchestrated pranks. Warning: Not OOTP compliant.
1. A Tale of Two Prefects

**Author's Note: This story was written before _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ was released and before JKR revealed that Blaise Zabini is actually male. A revised and edited version of this story was underway when I learned _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ will be released this summer. I've decided to wait until the next book comes out to avoid any further embarassing complications such as writing a male character as female, etc. Further Malfoy torture will commense around August.**

**In the rewrite Blaise will become Daphne Greenglass, Alan Nott will be Theodore Nott , and they won't be prefects...but they feel they should have been. **

**"The Quiet Ones"  
Chapter One: A Tale of Two Prefects**

The professors sometimes puzzled over why the Sorting Hat made Blaise Zabini a Slytherin. She was quiet and studious, did not push Muggle-born students around, insult others, or spout pure-blood philosophy. Among the fifth year girls, Blaise was the early riser and neat nick, her class notes were sorted by subject and in chronological order, and she always handed in her assignments on time.

Without fanfare, Blaise earned the second highest potions mark out of her entire year and the best marks of any Slytherin in just about every other subject. Unlike Draco Malfoy, who crowed about every half decent grade, Blaise hugged the knowledge of her success to her and fought down laughter every time another gloated about a lesser achievement. She prided herself on her icy, unreadable, exterior.

The summer after her fourth year, Blaise discovered she had been made a prefect along with her best friend, stepbrother, and study partner Alan Nott. Together the pair had accumulated reams of information on their classmates and instructors, their real interest in the files was not blackmail but to determine a person's next move. Their favorite game was to call anothers next move and watch the subject act as they predicted.

Upon learning she and Alan had both been made prefects, they spent an idle summer afternoon in the study at the Nott house musing upon the likely reactions of their peers.

Blaise made a list of the other sixth years and considered their reactions.Being made a prefect put the their accomplishments in public view. Though she did not mention it to Alan, she was concerned about backlash against Alan from Draco Malfoy and his friends. It was no secret that the pale-faced Seeker expected to be made a prefect and his reaction to disappointment was not pretty.

"Among the girls, Sally-Ann and I were really the only viable contenders. Pansy and Millicent would never be selected, and they know it. Queenie is only just passing Herbology, Morag is almost as work shy as Pansy, and Tracey's Potions marks are not much better. As for Sally-Anne, my marks are higher." Blaise read from her notes as she flicked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. As it was summer and magic was forbidden, she could not charm her hair into a neat chignon as she did at school and the wispy blond strands kept escaping to tickle the back of her neck.

"Malfoy is expecting to be made a prefect." Alan smirked, imagining the expression on the other boy's face when his letter arrived - sans shiny silver badge. "He kept going on about it all last year. Never occurred to poncy git that he would not be chosen."

Blaise moved on to the boys. "Crabbe and Goyle were not even in the running, Malcolm's interest are music and Quidditch, not academics, though he's quite good at Charms. His marks are adequate, but not spectacular. Spends too much of his study time on his hobbies." Blaise concluded her analysis. "Of course, they didn't expect to be made prefects. The featherheads would die of shock, and Malcolm would hate the responsibility. They'll suppose either you or Malfoy got it. Too bad for Malfoy that prefect's badges are not for sale. He'll whine and pout and blame others."

"At least until Quidditch season rolls around and he resumes his obsession with beating Potter." Alan stated, scribbling onto a scrap of parchment. "Don't worry Blaise, I can handle Draco Malfoy."

Blaise ignored him, a bit annoyed at having been deciphered so easily, and continued on as though Alan had not spoken. "I wonder if he'll see Snape about it. Bet he doesn't know house heads only submit lists of those eligible, the Sorting Hat makes the ultimate decision."

Alan smirked. "Do you think the hat would reconsider making us prefects if it really knew us?"

Blaise snorted. "It had a good look inside our heads first year. That hat sorted Voldemort. I doubt much can shock it."

Malfoy's response to the Sorting Hat's choice was just as Alan and Blaise anticipated.

"They made you two prefects?" Malfoy demanded the first week of school. He had been pacing the common room like a caged lion for several moments before stalking over to the corner Blaise and Alan were using as a study area. Crabbe and Goyle followed a pace behind him in an imitation of the burly bodyguards of some ancient monarch.

"Your powers of perception continue to astound me. Now, sod off." Blaise retorted without bothering to look up at Draco, absently flipping through a book of hexes. She paused and made a pretense of studying a particularly nasty hex while twirling her wand with her right hand. Malfoy did not take the hint and depart.

"Next they'll be making Longbottom Head Boy." Malfoy laughed, his hand on his own wand.

"He wasn't made a prefect this year and I don't see them making an exception for him." Blaise said in her usual academic tone. It unnerved some to hear Blaise discuss things ranging from her family life to advanced Transfiguration theory in the same slightly detached, analytical manner. A smirk not unlike the one usually found on Malfoy's angular face grew as Blaise's eyes dropped to Malfoy's robes. "I don't see a prefect's badge pinned to your robes, unless I missed something. House elves forget to pin it to your chest for you?"

Spots of red grew on Malfoy's face and his reply was short and clipped. "Dumbledore has it in for me."

Blaise bit the inside of her cheek to hide her laughter. Exactly as they called it, sometimes the game was too easy.

"Really?" Alan entered the conversation. "And here I thought it was on account of Blaise's and my marks. Here's a tip Malfoy: books open and contain words that are meant to be read."

"Oh really, I'll make a note of that. I do happen to have the fourth highest potions grade in our year." Malfoy bragged, looking to the two large boys book ending him. They look Malfoy's cue and nodded in agreement.

"Fourth highest potions grade? Really?" Blaise repeated, making her hazel eyes wide. No Slytherin was fooled by her innocent tone. "Well I have the second highest, with Alan in third after me."

"You both beat me?" There was a note of disbelief in Malfoy's voice that made Blaise want to giggle. He sounded like a little boy whose toys were just taken away from him. With a great effort she restrained herself. It would not do to loose her poise in front of Draco Malfoy of all people. She had a reputation for being the Slytherin Ice Queen to maintain, after all.

"Your obsession with Potter hinders you in other areas as well." Alan looked down his nose at the shorter boy. Blaise always thought this was one of her stepbrother's best expressions of distain, with his hawk nose and fierce blue eyes, Alan resembled a nobleman of antiquity – the breed who were required to fight to maintain their position. Malfoy, on the other hand, seemed to Blaise to be the end product of too much intermarriage and an overlarge reliance on servants. She did not understand what Pansy saw in his pale, angular features, but suspected his galleons heightened his appearance in her beady eyes.

"I am not obsessed with Potter!" Draco snapped back, clenching his jaw in a way he probably thought made him appear older and intimidating, but in reality made him look as though he were in pain.

"You are obsessed with beating him." Blaise clarified for her fellow prefect. "And that is why you never will."

"I will beat him." Malfoy declared before huffing off in the direction of the boy's dormitory, his two goons trailing in his wake. "I'll show him. I'll show everyone."

Blaise shook her head. Malfoy let himself be as pulled around by his emotions as any first year Gryffindor. Didn't anyone ever tell him that rivalries must be pursued with academic detachment and careful planning lest they consume?

Of course it was doubtful he would learn discretion and subtlety from his father. Even many Hufflepuff's believed Malfoy Senior was a Death Eater and that Draco was heading the same way. They had acquired an army of enemies. Sooner or later one would draw blood and the rest would move forward scenting weakness.

"You appear troubled, was Malfoy…?" Alan observed.

"Malfoy is always a complete prat. He is a disgrace to Slytherin." Blaise fumed glancing off in the direction Malfoy had taken off in.

Alan put a comforting hand on Blaise's shoulder. "The poncy git strains my patience too."

"It's not just Malfoy," Blaise told her stepbrother, lowering her voice. "Ever since the Dark Lord, those who got away with being Death Eaters have flaunted their little victory over the Ministry. By and large their children are the same way. Slytherin used to equal subtle, now…"

"Now we are equated with bullies and braggarts."

"No thanks to the brainless wonders of Malfoy's cronies. They cost us more than points. They make us all look bad." Blaise sniffed angrily. It was an old irritation.

"Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy and Parkinson aren't the only ones. Remember Flint? No self control whatsoever. I shudder to think at the damage he did both in points and perception. It used to be a tad bit of rule bending could slip by, now the professions watch us like we are criminally insane."

"The Heir of Slytherin business did not help." Blaise sighed.

"No, it didn't."

"Too bad we can't improve their personalities. Or at the very least their judgment"

"Why don't we?" Alan suggested. His blue eyes danced with excitement.

"Why don't we what?" Blaise demanded.

Alan leaned forward, his voice dropping in volume to a conspiratorial whisper. "Give poncy git and the feather heads a mental makeover."

Blaise considered this for a moment. "How?"


	2. Trickle Down Theory

** "The Quiet Ones" **   
**Chapter Two: Trickle Down Theory**

Alan glanced around the common room. He and Blaise had laid claim to their usual table, which was tucked into an alcove and away from the fireplace that served as the rooms gathering point. No one was paying the pair any attention, he and Blaise were a frequent sight at their table. Still, Alan did not appreciate the prospect of being overheard. 

Alan's wand was thirteen inches, maple, and contained a dragon heartstring. When he purchased it, he was told it was suited for tricky charm work. Over the five years he used the wand he discovered the truth of that pronouncement. One of his favorite spells was a Selective Privacy Charm. The charm would permit others outside the sphere of the spell to hear a conversation, but they would unable to distinguish individual words. 

"_Solitudo_," he whispered. The air around the table seemed to glow green for a moment, then returned to normal. 

He returned his attention to Blaise and picked up the conversation. "The featherheads follow Draco's every lead like a trio of marionettes. If we improve him, the results will filter down to their level." 

Blaise considered this for a moment, mentally sorting through the possibilities and potential complications. "It might work, however we would still have the problem of how exactly to 'improve' Draco. Any ideas on how that might be accomplished?" 

Alan stared off into the distance. "As with the tragic heroes of Greek literature, Draco's fatal flaw is hubris. We need to take him down a few pegs, give him a slice of humble pie, erode his pride. Publicly humiliate him, preferably in front of Granger, Potter, and Weasley." 

"A little humiliation in full view of his enemies would do much him good." Blaise agreed. The idea appealed to her on more than one level. To Blaise the best Draco was an embarrassed Draco. 

"Definitely." 

"Of course, we might loose points for Slytherin in the process." Blaise pointed out, injecting a negative note in the discussion as she pushed past her initial excitement to don her usual academic persona. 

Alan shrugged. "Sometimes you must suffer a minor defeat in order to achieve a great victory. In chess pawns are sacrificed, in our situation, points." 

"Ah, lovely chess analogy. Well said. Besides, something must be done." 

"No question of that." 

"Besides," Blaise considered. "If we plan things just so, the quixotic Gryffindors we know and so love to spool up might take our fall. And the blame. I don't know about you, but I do not fancy having Draco after me seeking retribution." 

"Blame must be deflected onto the Gryffindors. Excellent idea Blaise." Alan agreed. "It does not take much for a Gryffindor to charge, they'd charge at windmills if someone told them they were really dragons. Malfoy will not have difficulty believing they are responsible – even if things are out of character for Potter's friends." 

Blaise smiled at the mental portrait Alan presented. "Muggle literary allusions aside – and I did appreciate the touch with the dragon – we still have not resolved our core problem with this plan. We have a goal and a general method, but what exactly do we do to Draco to humiliate him?" 

"You have an idea?" 

"Humiliate early…and often." Blaise responded promptly. 

Alan leaned forward. "Specifics?" 

Blaise summoned quills, ink and parchment. She handed a supply of each to Alan. Then she went to her dormitory to retrieve a thick folder with 'Draco Malfoy' scrawled across the front in her lacy script. She tapped the folder with her wand and whispered a password to remove the locking charm. 

"You will want to take notes." Blaise instructed as she sat down and opened the folder. 

Alan peered at the folder. "Your blackmail folder on Malfoy?" 

Blaise nodded, flipping through the contents for inspiration. "We can use previous incidents as a spring board to lesson the out of character problem. We'll have to exclude anything that happened in the common room or dormitories as the Gryffindors could not have been privy to those and Slytherins do no share such things with other houses." 

"Too bad," Alan sighed, running a hand through his dark hair and flashing Blaise a pearly smile. "The ribbon incident was a classic." 

Blaise agreed wholeheartedly. Then she paused on one page. "What about the ferret incident? Remember last year when Moody turned him into a ferret?" 

"Vividly," Alan sighed. "I just wish I was able to take a picture of that. Planning on a repeat?" 

Blaise tucked a fancy blue fwooper quill behind her ear as she jotted down notes with a more practical eagle feather. Blaise found fancy quills annoying except as personal decoration, but people unsure what to give her as a gift kept resorting to fancy quills. "Don't be silly. Neither of us can perform human transfiguration yet. We want to improve Malfoy not damage him physically. He is our Seeker after all." 

"Then what are you planning?" 

"I want to begin our little campaign by reminding him of past humiliations, then built up to fresh new ones. As our opening salvo, I was thinking of sending him a live white ferret by owl post." 

Alan laughed. "That will drive poncy git crazy." 

Blaise nodded vigorously. "The best lessons are the ones we teach ourselves. I want to Draco so focused on his obsession that he will burn himself. The memory will be seared into his mind and guide his future actions." 

"And by extension those of Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson." Alan reminded her. "I assume that we will be sending him somethimg transfigured to be a ferret and not an actual live animal?" 

"Of course." 

"Then I have an idea on what we should use." 

Blaise started to ask what he had in mind when Alan pulled out his wand. 

"_Accio_ Magazines!" 

A small stack of magazines sailed through the Common Room to Alan. He leafed through them, searching for something in particular. 

"Isn't that the subscription your Dad gave you last Christmas?" 

Alan indicated that it was with a shrug. "Dad still thinks I collect Chocolate Frog cards." 

Blaise raised an eyebrow. Alan's ideas usually were based in logic, but she really did not see why he would want to use a card to create the ferret. Of course he did share a dormitory with Malfoy and could be privy to some obscure but vital tidbit. 

"Ah, here it is!" Alan pointed to a listing of cards. Blaise looked over his shoulder and followed his finger to a full size picture of one particular card. She allowed herself a snort of laughter. 

"You are a genius!" Blaise exclaimed. "I did not know that a card of him existed!" 

Alan ripped out the page he had just shown Blaise. "The Harry Potter Chocolate Frog card is no longer in print. We can glue this," he rapped a fingernail against the picture. The baby Potter in the picture squawked in silent outrage at this abuse. "Onto another card and transfigure this into a ferret." 

"Too bad we can't use a real Potter card," Blaise sighed. 

Alan laughed. "Actually it's a good thing we aren't. They are worth twenty galleons to a collector since they were a limited printing issued in 1981." 

"When should we execute our plan? I suggest the next Hogsmeade weekend." 

"Agreed." 

* * *

Next Chapter: The conspiracy begins and much butterbeer is consumed.

* * *

Reviewers: Felis, celestinne (nli), Bryn, Kaylin, MartianHousecat, Ryven, orion

Bryn: I have never actually seen that movie! Believe it or not this entire story was inspired by Trickle Down economics! Its a theory which states that giving tax breaks to the rich will allow them to spend and invest their money and that will trickle down and benefit the rest of us. 

Felis: It seemed logical. The Sorting Hat sees stuff no one else does and it seems wasteful to only use it once a year! 


	3. A Widening Conspiracy

****

"The Quiet Ones"  
Chapter Three: A Widening Conspiracy

On the next Hogsmeade weekend, they set their plan into motion. Blaise carefully cut the picture of the rare Potter card out of the magazine page and glued it over the Albus Dumbledore frog card Alan donated. There were actual cards of Potter in existence, but they were rare and valuable. Even if Alan possessed one, he would not be about to hand it over to Blaise for use in their improvement project.

They set the card to dry under Blaise's bed where no one would be apt to stumble across it and ask questions. As they meant to transfigure it later into a ferret, it was better that the card not be constructed with spells that might complicate the process. It would be a taxing transfiguration for the both of them.

Though Blaise said nothing to her stepbrother, she was concerned about turning the card into a ferret. Transfiguration was not her strong suit, but she supposed that with enough time and effort they would manage.

Their work completed, they went to join their classmates in Hogsmeade. The Three Broomsticks was crowded, but Blaise managed to grab a table after some seventh year Hufflepuffs departed.

"Here's to hoping Millicent's cat doesn't lay on the card as it dries." Blaise said by way of a toast as they sat at the Three Broomstricks enjoying butterbeers.

Alan grinned. "Would serve that cat right to get glue all over it's fur."

"No it wouldn't! Millicent would kill us!" Blaise exclaimed. "Half of my assignments have black cat hairs on them. No amount of charms can get rid of them and Millicent won't do anything to help. She thinks Pansy, Sally and I are out to get her precious cat. I'd hate to see what she would do if Rascal were found with glue in his fur."

"So Millicent will be next on the improvement?"

Blaise shook her head in the negative with enough force that Alan marveled at the strength of the charms keeping her blond hair in its signature chignon. "No, just her cat!"

"Do you two mind if I join you?" Their housemate Sally-Anne Perks asked from behind Alan. Trailing after her were two other fifth year Slytherins: Tracey Davis and her boyfriend Malcolm Moon.

Alan and Blaise exchanged a look. "By all means, we'd love the company."

"Thanks," Tracey said, relief visible in her face. "All the other tables are full and I don't fancy sitting with Draco and Pansy."

"That would be unfortunate," Sally-Anne agreed, though her brown eyes sparkled with malice directed at Malfoy and Pansy. Alan found himself quite glad of the distance between the two tables. Blaise might be the Slytherin ice queen but the threats she posed were intellectual and magical, never physical. Sally-Anne, on the other hand, gave the impression that she was in the process of sharpening a knife under her robes. She reminded Alan of a venomous serpent - pretty to look at but deadly when provoked. Of course, Sally-Anne had more reason than Blaise to be tough. She was an oddity - a Slytherin halfblood. Anyone foolish enough to insult her Muggle-born mother would visit the infirmary. Repeatedly. 

Not that Blaise was a push over, it was just that she would never be able to draw blood. Only Alan knew how Blaise could not stand the sight of other people bleeding, and after learning how her father died he could not blame her.

"Indeed," Tracey drawled, distracting Alan from his thoughts. She was toying with her boyfriend's tie from her position on his lap. "I would hate to loose any more points because you turned Pansy into a poodle."

Sally-Anne gave Tracey the evil eye, she was quite good at it and Tracey wilted. The three shared an unusual partnership with Sally-Anne as the groups warrior, Tracey the jester and mystic, and Malcolm the mediator who cobbled their widely different ideas into a workable plan. They were Slytherin's resident pranksters, but Blaise and Alan did not fear being on the receiving end of one of their efforts: they did not target those the trio got along with. 

"I would never turn Pansy into a poodle," Sally-Anne remarked a moment later. Tracey looked over at the other girl, whose lethal gaze was now fixed across the room and on Pansy Parkinson. "It would be an insult to dogs. Pansy ought to be something repulsive."

"Poodles aren't repulsive?" Blaise demanded incredulously.

Alan coughed to hide his laughter. Blaise despised poodles. She considered it an insult to decent taste that anyone could sculpt their dog like a hedge.

"Pansy ought be something slimy," Sally-Ann corrected. She did not care much for poodles either. "A slug perhaps. When she returned to normal we could..."

"Would you believe that Crabbe fancies Bulstrode?" Tracey cut in before Sally-Anne could finish. 

Alan once read about a wizard in Kent whose divination skills were limited to predicting the number of children a person who eventually have. Tracey's skills were similar, but in her case to ascertaining exactly who an individual fancied. As with her pranks, she usually only tormented those she disliked.

"Crabbe and Bulstrode." Malcolm shuddered. "Imagine their children..."

The five Slytherins considered this for a long moment. It was not a pleasant mental image.

"Goyle fancies McGongall," Tracey added brightly. Whether it was a misguided attempt to change the subject again or just see the expressions on her friends faces, only Tracey knew for certain.

Blaise nearly choked on her butterbeer. Alan was thankful he had nothing in his mouth when Tracey made her declaration. Sally-Anne had to conjure up a paper bag to breathe into, and Malcolm laughed so hard tears ran down his cheeks and Tracey nearly fell off his lap.

"McGonagall?" Blaise sputtered. "She taught my Mum."

"She is old enough to be his grandmother, but I suppose there is no accounting for some people's taste." Sally-Anne noted as she recovered herself. "But at least we don't have to worry about their having children. McGongall would turn him in a horny toad if he ever tried anything."

"Thank Merlin," Alan muttered. "Bulstrode, Crabbe and Goyle ought to do the magical world a service and try for one of those awards you mentioned."

"The Darwin Awards." Sally-Anne laughed, then elaborated after seeing the puzzled looks other three Slytherins. "A Muggle thing my cousin told me about. They are given to people who manage to kill themselves in a very foolish way and thus remove themselves from the gene pool."

"At the rate they are going, Bulstrode, Crabbe and Goyle just might qualify without any assistance," Tracey teased.

"We were just talking about Millicent before you came," Blaise managed. "But not about her love life."

"Oh really."

"Actually about her cat." Alan clarified. 

The three newcomers nodded in perfect understanding and sympathy. Even the boys, who did not share a dormitory with Millicent and Rascal, hated the scraggily black cat.

"Rascal is the perfect name for that thing." Tracey sighed. "He loves to hide under my bed and attack my ankles. Millicent thinks its funny."

"Millicent thinks each and every thing Rascal does is precious." Sally-Anne said gloomily.

"Millicent does not think enough or very hard." Blaise said.

Sally-Anne laughed, her black curls shaking. "No, she doesn't."

"Which is why she and Goyle..." Tracey began before Malcolm clamped a hand over her mouth.

Tracey turned Malcolm's hair green and pink when he released her.

"That was uncalled for," she fumed as Malcolm corrected his hair.

Sally-Anne cleared her throat and seemed to be fishing for something to say. Tracey found another chair and dragged it over to the table before sitting down.

"Malfoy lost us another ten points." Sally-Anne said after a minute.

"Again?" Tracey groaned. "That takes care of the ten I got off Snape last week for answering those questions about truth serums!"

"Why don't you go over there and turn his hair green?" Malcolm suggested. Tracey glared at him.

"Because Tracey would loose more points for Slytherin and Malfoy would sic his bulldogs on her or worse." Blaise lowered her voice to a whisper and looked directly into Tracey's eyes as she spoke. "He'd probably think Tracey did it because she fancied him. He has quite the ego." 

Tracey paled and her eyes widened until they resembled two blue tea saucers. Malcolm put a protective arm around Tracey, the multi color hair forgotten. They tended to forgive each other with unusual ease for a Slytherin couple. 

"The prospect is too horrifying to consider," Sally-Anne said. "Why don't we do something to Malfoy in potions and blame it on the Gryffindors?"

"One word: Snape," Blaise reminded her.

Sally-Anne waved her warning aside. "Snape can be dealt with. He is rather notorious about jumping to the conclusion that a Gryffindor is to blame for whatever goes wrong in his classroom. He would not need much help from us. It would all depend on the planning, with the necessary destraction..."

Alan kicked his stepsister under the table. They had been family in all but blood since the age of six and could communicate with a nod, a glance or the slightest motion of a hand. With one look, Alan asked an entire question.

__

Should we let them in on the Malfoy improvement plan?

Blaise weighed the pros and cons in her mind. She gave Alan a curt nod yes. 

"We've been planning to better our house by improving Mr. Malfoy..." he began. The other three listened avidly as Alan and Blaise laid out their plan. 

* * * 

Next Chapter: The ferret is sent and more plans are made. 

* * * 

Reviewers: Felis, Bryn, MartianHousecat, Slytherin-girl 

Felis: Not Fred and George, but maybe some others. 

Bryn: You have just named one of the theory's weaknesses. The other is that the rich will spend their money frivolously instead of investing it in industries and things that will benefit a large segment of the population. 

MartianHousecat: Never read the book, but have seen the movie. Did you enjoy the Darwin Awards reference? They really do exist. 


	4. Well Chosen Words

****

"The Quiet Ones"  
Chapter Four: Well Chosen Words

Blaise was glad that she and Alan invited Malcolm, Tracey and Sally-Anne to participate in the plan. Transfiguration was not a subject that came naturally to either her or Alan, and though she would never admit it, she had been apprehensive about turning a small card into a snow white ferret. She would have been lucky to end up with a mint green jarvey. Sally-Anne, on the other hand, took to transfiguration as easily as a clappert to a tree branch and deftly managed the task.

Blaise and Sally-Anne brought the ferret and a specially charmed box Tracey and Malcolm constructed to contain it down to the owlery. The box had once held Chocolate Frogs and was bewitched so not to betray the presence of a live animal inside.

"This way Malfoy will open it, which he certainly would not if he saw it bouncing all over the table." Tracey had reasoned as she gave the box a final tap with her wand. 

"Good idea, the box," Blaise complemented.

Tracey had shrugged. "His mum is always sending him sweets."

The parcel was carefully addressed by Malcolm to appear to be typed. All that was left was for the package to be owled to the intended victim.

"Which owl?" Sally-Anne asked as she inspected the available school owls.

"Potter uses a snowy owl, doesn't he?"

"I think so. Granger has a little gray one."

"Weasley," Blaise corrected. "Granger has a cat."

Sally-Anne shrugged. "Keeping track of Gryffindor pets is not my province."

Blaise surveyed the school owls. None remotely resembled Potter's owl, however a small gray screech owl did rather look like Weasley's. She pointed to it. "That one."

Sally-Anne studied the owl with a critical eye. "It's pretty small. We'll have to make the package feather light or the owl will never be able to lift off."

The owl appeared to bristle at that comment. The two witches ignored the creature, cast the charm and tied the box containing the ferret to its leg.

"Deliver this to Draco Malfoy tomorrow. Depart immediately after delivery and I'll bring you a bag of owl treats." Blaise instructed. The owl hooted in reply.

* * *

The conspirators made certain to be early for breakfast. Blaise and Alan did not care for much other than a glass of pumpkin juice and a bit of toast - Blaise's mother preferred sparse breakfasts and her preference had been adopted by the younger members of the household. Sally-Anne and Tracey, however, attacked their pancakes while Malcolm sipped his pumpkin juice with a bemused look on his face. Blaise thought he resembled an owl contemplating a rather tasty mouse. Had she glanced in a mirror that that moment she would have seen a similar expression on her own face. 

Blaise pulled her dictionary out of her bag and stared at the page she marked in an effort to distract herself. It had been her goal for some years to memorize at least one new word a day, after a while it became a game of sorts. Blaise believed that having the best words in ones vocabulary was akin to having the appropriate tool for a job.

"What are today's words?" Sally-Anne questioned. She found Blaise's interest in words amusing and had once given her a pocket Muggle dictionary for Christmas.

"Recycle, red, redness, redact and redaction." Blaise replied promptly.

Tracey raised an eyebrow. "That's more than usual."

Blaise shrugged. "Red hardly counts as a new word."

Alan raised his pumpkin juice in a mock toast. "Here is to hoping there will be no recidivism with out current project."

Sally-Anne's mouth quirked. "Wasn't recidivism one of last weeks words?"

"Week before last." Blaise corrected in her academic tone. "Did you know that one of the definitions for recycle is 'to process (as liquid body, waste, glass, or cans) in order to regain materials for Muggle use'?"

Tracey blinked. "I believe the operative word in there was 'Muggle'."

Sally-Anne shook her head. As the only Slytherin in their year with any Muggle blood, she had become their resident expert on all things Muggle by default. "Muggles put their cans, newspaper, and glass bottles in these plastic bins so that they can be remade into new products."

"And what exactly do the bins do?" Alan asked feeling a trifle foolish, but still curious. Though he often read books written by Muggle authors, his collection had originally belonged to his grandfather and most of the selections were written at least a hundred years earlier.

Sally-Anne launched into a detailed explanation of the entire process that left the other four baffled, bewildered and bemused, though to Blaise's amusement Alan paid rapt attention. She just finished explaining the concept of Muggle waste collection days when Draco Malfoy made his entrance and the conversation ended as abruptly as if a silencing charm had been used on the group.

Malfoy sauntered down to the table and took his customary place, sandwiched between Crabbe and Goyle with Pansy facing him. Though Blaise could not tell exactly what he was saying, it sounded boastful to her ears, though she would be the first to admit that her dislike of Draco Malfoy colored her observations of him.

"How much longer?" Alan muttered. 

Blaise did not look at Alan as she spoke. "Just a few more minutes."

"The wait is killing me." Malcolm said low.

"You'll live."

"Thank you, Dr. Zabini."

"Dr. Zabini," Blaise tasted the words. "I like the sound of that."

Alan returned to his toast, shaking his head.

"Look," Tracey said suddenly, pointing up at the sky. "Post."

"Remember, don't stare at Malfoy until after he makes a fuss." Sally-Anne hissed. "He is not entirely without brains."

"No, he has brains," Alan agreed. "He just lacks common sense, discretion, tact, stealth, subtlety, skin pigmentation..."

Blaise elbowed Alan in the side to silence him. "Trying to impress Sally-Anne?" She hissed in his ear.

He frowned at her for a moment and was about to offer a biting remark when a barn owl dropped a letter onto his plate.

Sally-Anne and Malcolm also received letters, which they sliced open with butter knives, pretending interest in their post. Blaise noticed Sally-Anne and Tracey's eyes straying toward Malfoy, then back to the mail. It was hard not to peek.

"It's from Dad," Alan announced as he scanned the contents of the letter while keeping an ear cocked for signs that Malfoy received his delivery. "He wants us to write Mum more."

Just then there came a commotion from the other end of the Slytherin table. All five heads turned toward it, faces alight with anticipation. 

Malfoy had opened the box and almost fallen out of his seat at the sight of the snow white ferret. It was clear from his reddening face and the venomous look he shot at the Gryffindor table that the memory of his time as such a ferret was still vivid.

"Success," breathed Sally-Anne.

Malfoy pulled out his wand to hex the animal, but the ferret jumped out of the way. It hopped on Crabbe's head, then back onto the table, landing next to a bowl of porridge, knocking it off the table and onto Malfoy's robes.

Porridge dripping down his front, Malfoy tried again to curse the ferret. This time it leapt into Pansy Parkinson's lap.

"_Petrificus Totalus_!"

The curse missed the ferret, but hit Pansy. Blaise and the others did not bother to restrain their laughter as Pansy fell to the stone floor, her body rigid except for her beady eyes. She glowered at Draco who, rather than taking the jinx off her, was under the table dealing with the ferret. When Malfoy's head finally reappeared, his skin was a deep crimson that made him look as though he had just experienced an extremely bad sunburn. 

"I think I like Malfoy that color," Alan managed in between bursts of laughter.

"Goes well with his hair," Blaise agreed without taking her eyes off the unfolding scene.

Without a glance back, Malfoy grabbed his things and stormed out of the room, his two male cronies following him as quickly as if Malfoy had jerked an invisible leash. As he departed, Blaise caught sight of something in the pale wizard's hand: the Chocolate frog card.

With Malfoy gone, Blaise turned her attention to Pansy. The Slytherins were too busy mocking her and laughing to help her. Pansy had few friends among those present and everyone relished the chance to see her as motionless as a statue. Blaise could hear the sixth year prefects debate as to how long they could leave her before one of them would have to go and remove the hex.

Finally Professor Snape glided over from the staff table and performed the counter-curse. He spoke sternly to Pansy, his voice low but still audible to the other Slytherins. 

"I see that your low marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts are deserved. Five points, Miss Parkinson." Blaise suspected their head of house was amused by the ferrets antics or he would have deducted more points. Snape's eyes always narrowed when Pansy came into view, had Snape been a student Blaise would have invited him into the group.

After Snape left, Pansy snatched her wand from the table and retreated, laughter following her. A few minutes later came the sound of shrieking from the dungeon.

Tracey winced. "If she's that loud, I'm glad I'm not in the common room right now."

Sally-Anne grinned around a mouthful of pancakes. "Imagine what she's doing to Malfoy."

Alan had a dreamy look on his face. "Oh, I am."

Sally-Anne speared another pancake. "Do you have a word to describe what just happened to Pansy?"

Blaise pondered the question. "No single word could adequately encapsulate this experience, but if I had to try, I'd go with justice."

"Oh," said a disappointed Tracey. "I thought you would choose a more interesting word."

The blond girl shrugged. "Sometimes the old stand-bys are best."

"And if you had to choose a word to describe Draco just now?"

"Eviscerated." Blaise said. Sally-Anne laughed, she was fond of the particular word as well. 

Sally-Anne smirked. "I think we can safely assume Pansy is verbally - or if we are lucky literally - eviscerating Draco as we speak." 

"Eviscerated?" Malcolm queried.

"It means disemboweled," Sally-Anne informed him with a wink.

Tracey sighed, leaning her head against Malcolm's shoulder. "You would know the meaning of that one."

Blaise smiled like a queen gazing at members of her court. "I think we can declare step one a success. Anyone with ideas for step two?"

* * *

Next Chapter: Sally-Anne makes a suggestion.

* * *

Reviewers: Lataradk, Bryn, Iniga, Felis

Lataradk: There will be no graphic depictions of Crabbe and Bulstrode. I don't think I could stomach writing that!

Bryn: Darwin died of malaria? You really do learn something new every day.

Iniga: Blaise sees considers calling Voldemort You-Know-Who very undignified. As for the trickle down theory not working, her knowledge of modern Muggle ideas is not perfect. 

Felis: Most of the fifth year Slytherins anyway. 


	5. Sally-Anne's Suggestion

****

"The Quiet Ones"  
Chapter Five: Sally-Anne's Suggestion

"I think we ought to split up into two groups for the next prank," Sally-Anne announced at the lunch table a few hours after the ferret delivery. Further down the table, Draco and Pansy were not speaking to each other or anyone else.

"Why?" Blaise asked.

The black girl shrugged. "It is hardly common for the five of us to be seen together so frequently and suspicions might be raised by our sudden fondness for one another."

"I think Sally-Anne is absolutely correct," Alan said, the words leaving his mouth much faster than was usual for him. Sally-Anne smiled back at him and for a moment, Blaise swore she saw the beginnings of a blush on Alan's face before he ducked under the table to tend to his shoelaces. 

As soon as he sat back up, she shot her stepbrother an exasperated look. Alan was usually very logical, but lately when he was around Sally-Anne he became so skittish and flustered. Blaise knew the reason, but was not about to disclose the thoughts presently on her mind before the other three conspirators. There were still ways to inform Alan of her irritation with him. 

"Two groups," Blaise agreed after a long minute. She wanted to disagree - if only to irk the smitten Alan, but she could not fault Sally-Anne's logic. "Divided along lines of gender, boys in one group and girls in another?"

Alan threw her a venomous look to which Blaise responded with a sweet smile. If he had hoped to be in the same group as Sally-Anne, whom he fancied, Blaise was determined to destroy that possibility before it could ever be broached.

Sally-Anne was facing Tracey and Malcolm and oblivious to the nonverbal contest going on behind her back.

"What do you think?" She asked the couple.

Tracey shrugged. "Alan and Malcolm think more like Potter and Weasley than we ever could."

"Is that a compliment or an insult?" Malcolm demanded, a little alarmed.

"Merely an observation. You are boys, they are boys."

"So clever of you to have noticed," Malcolm teased. "I take it you three will be brewing up something that might appear to be the work of Hermione Granger?"

"Perhaps," Tracey replied airily, throwing her long ash brown hair over one shoulder in a way that would have been melodramatic for anyone else, but was oddly fitting for Tracey. The gesture also exposed the amethyst and rose quart bead necklace she always wore under her school tie. Tracey believed the necklace helped her divinatory skills. "Or perhaps not. You will just have to be surprised."

Blaise had the distinct feeling that Tracey already had something in mind. And this time it was not a do-it-yourself water garden (complete with ever-blooming water lilies) for her corner of the dormitory. The garden might not be practical in the rather damp Slytherin dormitories, but it was the one thing Millicent's cat avoided like a hungry dragon.

With that Tracey stood up and marched off. Within seconds, Blaise and Sally-Anne were trailing after her. 

* * *

Alan watched them go. He had not a doubt that they planned to interrogate Tracey at the first opportunity they could find or make. Part of him envied Tracey on about to be cornered by Sally-Anne Perks, but the more rational section of his brain questioned his sanity for harboring such a sentiment. He shook his head to clear his mind, something he was having to do quite a bit lately.

Malcolm took a goblet of pumpkin juice and held it up in a mock toast. "To Slytherin witches. Hell hath no fury."

"I'll drink to that," Alan agreed, raising his own goblet. "Just so long as the fury is directed elsewhere!"

* * *

Later that evening, Alan and Malcolm settled into the table usually occupied by Blaise and Alan, with a rather large stack of blank parchment and writing supplies. The three girls were clustered in a distant corner, discussing something in low voices and laughing.

"Are they actually working or just gossiping?" Alan wondered, staring at Sally-Anne.

"Maybe both," Malcolm suggested. "They could be sifting current events for inspiration."

"Perhaps." 

"Do you have any ideas on what _we_ ought to do?"

Alan tapped the thick file he borrowed from Blaise. He was surprised that she claimed not to require it in the foreseeable future. "No, but a general outline. Weasley and Potter are hardly sophisticated pranksters, so we ought to do something rather juvenile but with a twist."

Both boys searched their memories for the sort of clichéd tricks that would fit the order. After several moments of silence, Malcolm put forth a query. "Juvenile, like dropping water balloons on Malfoy's head?" 

"If the balloons contained dye instead of water, perhaps..."

Malcolm laughed, his gray eyes glittering like steel in the dim light. "My mother's company works with dyes. I know how to set them magically to make it rather difficult to remove the color."

Alan made a note of this on a fresh roll of parchment. "The poncy git has dozens of robes. He'd change as quick as he could and if we did something to his other robes, we would tip our hand. Perhaps we could we dye his hair instead?"

"It would be difficult, the spell is easy to take off." Malcolm mused. Then his face lit up. "Unless we follow it with a color fast charm. He would be able to restore his hair...after a few hours."

"Good, but what color?" Alan asked, not bothering to look up as he scribbled down notes.

Malcolm appeared to ponder the question. "Black, like Potter's?"

Alan shook his head. "I like your suggestion, but I believe red would be more appropriate. Weasley and Gryffindor color."

"Two gnomes with one throw." Malcolm grinned.

"Of course."

* * *

The boys decided the best time to accomplish their alteration was the next day after their Arithmancy class. They knew that Malfoy had Care of Magical Creatures with the Gryffindors and had to pass the castle doors on his way back to the common room. His route led him under a shadowed second floor landing that provided both cover and an excellent view. Additionally, they could arrive from their class far in advance of Malfoy and his gang who had to walk farther from Hagrid's.

Alan found himself more focused on the intricacies of the plan and how Sally-Anne would like it than on his enhancing brew. Blaise had already chided him three times for daydreaming when he ought to be mincing the garlic.

"I'm already added the unicorn mane hair, " Blaise's voice intruded on Alan's lazy thoughts of Sally-Anne's reaction. "When will you be finished?"

"I'm almost done," Alan muttered, a trifle embarrassed. He had a feeling Blaise knew just what was distracting him, and started to move the knife faster.

"Do hurry, I would like to finish before class ends." Blaise drawled. 

Alan thought she sounded amazingly like Malfoy and was about to tell her so when the knife slipped in Alan's hand and he cut his finger. It was shallow but blood dripped onto the wooden cutting board and over the garlic. The sting of pain in his hand was nothing compared to the dread that bubbled up in Alan at the prospect of Blaise seeing the blood. After learning how her father died, Alan could understand why Blaise could not handle the sight of another person bleeding. He tried to get Malcolm to distract Blaise before she saw the blood, but it was too late.

"You're bleeding," Blaise gasped, taking a step backward. Alan could not help but notice how wide her hazel eyes had become, how the pupils were dilated, and how they were fixed on his hand. Blaise's breathing increased and her skin became chalky. She started to sway and had to grab the edge of a desk to support herself. If Alan did not know her better, he would have sworn she was about to faint.

Sally-Anne reached across the desk to grab Blaise by the arm and pull her out of the way as Professor Snape appeared by Alan's side. His obsidian gaze noted Blaise's reaction, but unusually for the sarcastic instructor, he said nothing and allowed Sally-Anne to talk softly to the pale and shaking girl, and prevent her from looking at her stepbrother.

Snape produced a clean cloth and a bottle of quick healing potion from a pocket of his robes and wordlessly handed them to Alan. As he applied the amber liquid to his cut, Snape removed the blood from the knife, cutting board and garlic with a quick spell. When he was done, he dismissed the class (which was almost over) and gently steered Blaise to his office.

"Flighty chit can't take the site of blood," Alan heard Pansy's voice say from behind him. Sally-Anne had to grab his sleeve and dig her nails into his arm so deeply he would have five red welts for days to stop him from turning around and pouncing on the pug faced girl. He was not one prone to violence, but Blaise was a special case.

"Don't," Tracey whispered in his ear. "_Our_ plan involves Pansy."

"Will she suffer?" Alan demanded.

There was a hard edge to Tracey's voice. "Yes. If our plan fails - which it won't - I'll find a way to sic Rascal on her or strangle her with my necklace."

"Good." Alan replied. 

Sally-Anne released her grip of Alan's arm and smirked at Tracey, brushing a bit of dust off the other girl's green and silver tie. "Use your tie, its not so distinctive. Besides I would hate to see your bead necklace damaged because of Pansy's thick neck."

* * *

Next Chapter: Malfoy sports a new look and a glimpse of what the girls are up to.

* * *

Chapter Four Reviews: Froghopper, Lataradk, Bryn

Froghopper: Millicent's cat will survive - much to the chagrin of the others who would love to see Rascal drown in Tracey's water garden (well the others except Tracey).

Lataradk: _It might be possible to use her against Draco's pride in some way.  
_Oh yes, definitely in the cards. 

Bryn: The next the chapters will contain a prank apiece.


	6. Blood Red

** "The Quiet Ones" **   
**Chapter Six: Blood Red**

After leaving Professor Snape's office, Blaise walked back to her dormitory. She was excused from her next class, something she had mixed feelings about taking advantage of. On the one hand she wanted to pretend that everything was normal, on the other she wanted to hide and enjoy the side benefit of not having to attend her least favorite class. She was so lost in her thoughts she almost ran into the entrance to the common room. 

She stared at the stone wall, belatedly realizing that she had to speak the password in order to enter. 

"Arachne." 

She entered the common room to find it deserted, as it usually was at this time of the day with everyone in class, which suited Blaise. She did not feel up to dealing with others at the moment. Instead, she sank into a chair by the fireplace and stared hard at the blue center of the flames. 

"Absolutely wonderful Zabini," Blaise reprimanded herself. "A little blood and you collapse like a sandcastle in the tide." 

In the years she had been at Hogwarts she had been able to hide her fear. It was embarrassing. She prided herself on being cool and collected. 

Blaise's father, Payton Zabini had been an Unspeakable. When Blaise was three, her mother had gone off to help a pregnant cousin, leaving her husband and daughter home alone. When she returned the next day, she discovered Payton bound to a chair, the artery in his neck cut open. He had bled to death. 

Blaise was found inside a locked trunk. The young girl had seen nothing, but heard everything. She had never been able to speak of that night and never been able to stand the sight of another bleeding. Whenever she saw another bleed, she was thrust back into that memory she sometimes fooled herself into believing had left her. She would be three years old again, trapped in that stuffy old steamer trunk as her father was murdered just across the room. 

Blaise moved to her dormitory as a few students trickled back into the common room. Some were talking about Pansy and Draco, but she did not take any pleasure in that. She turned on Tracey's water garden and stretched out on her bed. The sound proved too soothing and Blaise soon fell asleep. 

* * * 

"Is she alright?" Alan asked. He had requested that Tracey check on Blaise. 

"She's asleep, still in her school robes and shoes." Tracey told him. 

Alan frowned. "Its unlike Blaise to sleep with her shoes on." 

"It is unlike Blaise to react like that," Sally-Anne countered. 

Alan looked away. "My parents divorced. Blaise's father was murdered when she was little. She never talks about it, but the first time this happened, I overheard her mom tell my dad it was because she was there when her dad was killed." 

Tracey gasped. "She saw her father's murder?" 

"I don't know anything else about the subject," Alan replied briskly. "It is not discussed at home. Every time anyone asks about her father, she just says that he is dead and they don't inquires further." 

"Was it Death Eaters?" Sally-Anne asked. There was a set to her jaw that was harsh even for her. As one of the few Slytherin's whose blood was not pure, the subject was particularly sensitive for her. 

Alan shook his head. "I told you all I know. Blaise's father died when she was three - a year and a half after Voldemort fell, and over two years before I met her." 

Malcolm stiffened. "You said his name?" 

"I had an aunt killed by him," Alan explained. "I agreed with Blaise when she noted that saying a person was killed by You-Know-Who was an insult to their memory. My aunt was killed by Voldemort." 

* * * 

After Blaise's panic attack in potions, Alan found himself feeling very much alone. It had been strange to see the seat Blaise customarily took in Transfiguration empty. 

"Arithmancy is next," Malcolm whispered after class. His voice was uncertain. "Do you still want to go through with..." 

"Yes," Alan cut in. "Yes, I do. I could use a good laugh." And so could Blaise, he though to himself. 

* * * 

So it was that Alan found himself crouched next to a suit of armor (which was quite pleased to provide cover since the breast plate had been dinged by a Malfoy in 1897) clutching his wand and waiting for Malfoy and his entourage to cross the threshold and enter his line of sight. 

"Should be any time now," Malcolm grumbled, glancing at his watch. 

"We don't know how long the walk is, we never bothered to time it." Alan pointed out. "He could have stopped to chat or been given a detention." 

"Well, I hope - there he is!" 

"_Rutilus_!" Alan hissed as soon as the pale boy appeared. 

Below him, Draco Malfoy's hair went from pale blond to a vivid red never found in nature. He did not appear to have noticed yet, being focused on insulting the Gryffindors who came in after him. 

Then it was Malcolm's turn. "_Firmus pigmentum_!" 

Hermione Granger started to laugh so hard she had to lean on Neville Longbottom for support. Pansy gasped in horror and tried to explain the situation to Draco, then she pulled a mirror from her handbag to show Draco the change and he spun around seeking someone to blame. 

Alan pulled Malcolm further behind the armor. They could not see much of the action, but heard everything. 

"_Reddere_! _Finite incantentum_!" Malfoy tried to correct his hair, but Pansy's mirror revealed no change. 

"What did you do to my hair?" Draco yelled at someone, probably Potter and his friends. 

"What did I do?" Potter responded in between bursts of laughter. "I did nothing to your hair." 

Draco did not sound very convinced of the Gryffindor boy's innocence as he and his friends were still snickering. 

"I'll get you for this." Malfoy snarled before heading for the boy's washroom, the hood of his cloak pulled over his head. 

* * * 

By dinner, Malfoy's hair was still a little pink. The incident had the fortunate effect of removing Blaise as the topic of discussion in the common room. Blaise was back in the common room with Tracey and Sally-Anne, though she was a still trifle withdrawn. 

"Very charming, Draco." Sally-Anne called as Malfoy returned from Snape's office with a vial of something that would return his hair to its natural color. He still wore his cloak with the hood up. 

"Sod off Perks," Malfoy growled. 

After Malfoy left, Blaise insisted upon focusing on what Tracey had dubbed "Operation Pink Frilly Socks," the girl's plan to humiliate Draco Malfoy. 

"Sally-Anne and I worked our what we will say yesterday. What about you?" Blaise asked. If one did not know what happened in potions, they would never believe the cool and composed witch capable of hysteria. 

Tracey stretched lazily. "I'm on pretty good chatting terms with Padma Patil. I'll let something slip in Herbology tomorrow." 

Sally-Anne snorted. "What good will that do?" 

Tracey favored her with a beatific smile that caused Sally-Anne to scowl. "Her twin sister is a Gryffindor. Padma knows Parvati loves to hear certain varieties of gossip. She'll pass this tidbit on for certain." 

"I think you underestimate the witch network," Blaise said. "And remember who went with Pansy to the Yule Ball last year? It will be believed." 

* * * 

Next Chapter: Operation Pink Frilly Socks. 

* * * 

Reviewers: Lataradk, Bryn, Kaylin 

Lataradk: So what do you think of Blaise's history? Alan's courtship of Sally-Anne will occur in later chapters. 


	7. Operation Pink Frilly Socks

****

"The Quiet Ones"  
Chapter Seven: Operation Pink Frilly Socks

Herbology was not a class favored by Slytherins. The greenhouses were hot and humid, the instructor a touch on the perky side, and the subject material dealt with plants. If the Slytherins had their way, herbology would be condensed to cover only the dangerous forms of magical vegetation.

It was time for Operation Pink Frilly Socks to be launched. The designation came from a comment by Tracey that if Pansy Parkinson designed the uniform, that would be the sock color for girls. Tracey thought that said a great deal about Pansy. As awful as the required gray knee socks were, they were no where near as humiliating as pink.

This was another reason the Slytherins did not care for herbology: they had the class with the Ravenclaws, who actually seemed to enjoy knee socks. Of course the Ravenclaws also enjoyed homework, so their opinions were suspect in the eyes of the other house.

Blaise took her usual spot beside Alan, where she was able to see Tracey waltz into the room with Malcolm at her heels. Tracey plunked herself down in the empty seat next to Padma Patil while Malcolm occupied the chair on the other side of his girlfriend.

"Morning Padma," Tracey said brightly. "I heard we will be working with dragonsnaps today."

"Really?" Padma asked, intrigued. "They are pretty rare and difficult to grow."

"Yes, but we are supposed to brew stuttering potions next week and one of the primary ingredients is dragonsnap extract."

"Snape could simply purchase the extract." Padma countered.

"Oh no," said Ravenclaw Lisa Turpin, an herbology geek if there ever was one. "The plant only grows wild in Tibet and they are protesting the latest round of fines from Muggle Yeti sightings by imposing huge tariffs on imports."

"Dragonsnaps are an export," reminded Padma.

Lisa glared at her. "I know that. But the countries that trade with Tibet have raised tariffs on Tibetan goods in response."

"Which includes dragonsnaps," concluded Tracey with a guileless smile. Blaise suspected that Tracey had worked out the entire conversation and its possible courses before she ever said a word to Padma. Blaise was impressed with her friend's planning and elevated her opinion of Tracey several notches.

"How do you keep up with such things?" Padma asked Tracey.

The Slytherin shrugged. "My mother operates the apothecary shop in Diagon Alley. Over the holidays she went on for ages about the situation. She is out of dragonsnaps until her own plants mature."

"I didn't know your mum owned that shop," Padma said.

"There are a lot of things you don't know." Tracey grinned and lowered her voice so that only Padma could understand what she was saying.

The Ravenclaw glanced at Malfoy and giggled a moment before Tracey clamped her hand over Padma's mouth.

"It's supposed to be a secret." Tracey hissed. Padma nodded, but it was obvious that she was itching to speak.

"What is supposed to be a secret?" Lisa demanded. To not be in the information loop amounted to torture for a Ravenclaw.

"Nothing," Tracey said, turning to her bored boyfriend to borrow a quill.

"I do love watching a professional at work," Sally-Anne commented under her breathe.

"I appreciated the 'supposed to be a secret' touch. Nothing spreads a rumor faster than pretending it is a secret." Blaise noted, looking at her watch. "It should be all over the school by lunchtime."

"At which time it will be our turn to fan the fans." Sally-Anne grinned.

* * *

"Did you hear about Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson?" The Slytherins heard a Hufflepuff tell her friends in the hall. The girls smirked.

"I'd say our operation was a success, wouldn't you?" Blaise asked Sally-Anne. "Our part of the plan would be rather redundant."

"Oh yes."

"You three are twisted." Alan declared, shaking his head. "Saying that Draco fancies Pansy is devious, cruel, and utterly brilliant."

"Jealous?"

"Absolutely."

"So how much longer should we continue our campaign against Malfoy?" Tracey asked.

"I say we wait and see the results, if they aren't what we want then we wait for his guard to lower again and plan anew." Blaise suggested.

"If the thundercloud storming toward the table is any indication, we will have to wait quite a long time." Sally-Anne observed, jerking her head in the direction of Draco Malfoy, who was walking toward the table with his spine so rigid it would be a wonder if it did not lock into place.

As Malfoy sat down, sandwiched between his two cronies, he was met by cat calls and teasing from his fellow Slytherins.

"So Malfoy when are you planning on presenting Parkinson with the Malfoy family betrothal ring?" Queenie Greinglass called.

"Say Draco, when you and Pansy have kids, remember to register them with the Weird and Dangerous Pets Office."

"Don't you mean Weird and Ugly Pets Office?" Chirped a rather bold third year who would probably pay for that remark later.

The Slytherins dissolved into laughter, the only exceptions being Draco, Crabbe and Goyle. Pansy was no where to be seen.

Malfoy stood up and fixed each Slytherin who had hurled a remark a glance that quite clearly stated 'you will be most sorry'. He then stalked off with so much fury in his stride that even Crabbe and Goyle remained at the table.

* * *

The third year who taunted Malfoy at lunch was found after dinner in a hallway with a blackened left eye and an interesting collection of hex marks. She promptly named Draco Malfoy as her attacker and Professor Snape ordered his favorite Slytherin to spend an evening scrubbing out and polishing his extensive collection of rusty cauldrons.

With the common room Malfoy free for the evening and future humiliations postponed until the results of round one could be fully analyzed, Alan decided it was a good time to begin his courtship of Sally-Anne. The only problem was that he had no idea how to go about this. Romance novels were useless as Sally-Anne was not a flowers and candy girl; the sort of dating advice his father had given really amounted to generic social advice.

He turned ideas over in his mind until one tumbled out. He grabbed his wand, a book from his trunk and returned to the common room where Sally-Anne was putting the final touches on her charms homework.

"Hey Sally-Anne," Alan said with a nervous smile. "I was wondering if you might help me with my DADA essay on enchanted weaponry."

"If you will check over my charms essay, sure. Enchanted weaponry is my forte." Sally-Anne exclaimed as she gestured for him to sit down.

"I know, that is why I came to you."

"My father owns the largest private collection in Britain," Sally-Anne told him proudly. "He even has Muggle pieces, that's how me met my mother. She is a dealer of Muggle antiquities."

"Really?" Alan asked. Sally-Anne went into more detail and Alan listened, intrigued. His own small plan had worked out even better than he hoped.

* * *

Next chapter: evaluation and decisions.

* * *

Reviewers: Kaylin, Lataradk, Bryn, Iniga

Bryn: remember, everything in this story is filtered through my characters - who do not have positive views of Draco.

Lataradk: Blaise's problem is that her imagination has filled in the visual images for the things that occurred while she was in the trunk. As for her family not discussing, in my experience most families tend to either bury stuff like that rather than dealing with them openly.


End file.
